


Silenced

by Bellsisokay



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Torture, War Prisoner AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellsisokay/pseuds/Bellsisokay
Summary: Jaina Proudmoore falls into a trap after believing she has created the perfect plan to hunt down Sylvanas Windrunner. After becoming a prisoner of the Banshee's, the two realize they must learn to get along or doom both of themselves while enacting the Banshee's plan. Based off an RP with a friend.Very slow burn. Trigger warnings for some graphic torture, especially in the chapters to come.
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96





	1. The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> After too long of having this in my drafts with the urge to actually write this, I decided to finish the first chapter (finally). As a belated birthday gift to the beloved Zellk, Jaina and Sylvanas fight in the ever-beloved War Prisoner AU. I don't know how quickly I will update as finals arrive and quarantine continues.

There comes a time when a person may succumb to their emotions, surpassing their tipping point and becoming irrational. In these moments, they are unlikely to listen to reason from those who seek to counsel, or to take time away from their objective. Their vision becomes a tunnel, their mind set on their goal and only their goal. They thrive upon spite, living for each morsel of information to fall into their clutches so that they can make the next move. Life becomes meaningless, instead their craving to obtain knowledge overpowers all other senses. 

In these moments, they are often blind to the reality of their situation. Perhaps they lock themselves away from those who wish to help, desperate for the friend to return and the demon to be vanquished. Their time is spent pouring over information already analyzed in a crazed search for a missing detail or strategy not yet acted out. Mortal needs are pushed to the back burner: food is eaten only when presented to them; sleeping only occurs once they have passed out.

These people become so engrossed in their self-righteous plan that nothing can sway their path. They believe they have the answer that has been desperately searched for. They believe they are doing what is right. Anything other than confirmation of this plan is ignored. 

The truth then comes to this: these people can only have the blindfold torn free from their eyes once the mistake they so pointedly ignored stares straight at them, arrow notched to kill. The warnings they failed to heed come to pass, their naive nature smacking them in the face. In these moments, the person has a moment of self-realization, too late to avoid their predicament. Death is almost certain upon this realization. Memories of uncertainty surface where, had the person taken the given advice to heart, their demise could have been avoided.

Jaina, unfortunately, found herself in this same predicament. She spent weeks-- months pushing aside her duties and friends so that she could focus on a plan that she believed would finally achieve the peace Azeroth so desperately craved. She worked with a close-knit group of skilled champions to scheme, watch, and hunt down the Banshee Queen herself. 

A small group to assassinate the most hated woman in the world had come to fruition on this fateful day.

Or so she had hoped.

The moment the champions were gathered around her and her teleportation spell completed, the group was surrounded by Dark Rangers, a nullification barrier quickly being erected to prevent her from leaving as quickly as she came. There were far too many to realistically take on, though that fact did little to deter the most loyal from trying. Though her mind reeled in surprise, Jaina quickly jumped into the action as best as she could with her companions so close to her. She had planned everything perfectly-- she had waited and schemed and tripled checked her numbers before deciding on her plan of action. She had pushed everyone away and fled in secret, only allowing her champions to know. It was supposed to be _perfect_. 

The archmage’s eyes landed on the Banshee who watched the battle from a safe distance, standing proudly atop a rock. Even from this distance, Jaina could see the triumphant smirk that plastered onto the Warchief’s lips, a dark look in those crimson eyes. She had _known_. How had she known? Who told her? All Jaina had was-- 

The outer line of champions broke and fell, the two closest to her turning and pressing their blades to Jaina’s throat, seizing her wrists and binding them in a cold metal. Her magic instantly stopped and those who she’d frozen were free once more. As it happened, everything clicked into place and the mage stared in horror at the two she’d almost considered friends. They had given her invaluable information. They had supported her from the very beginning, often taking care of her whenever she failed to do so herself. 

Of course they had. They were really working for the Banshee the whole time. 

One of them openly smirked at her; the other stared indifferently. At least the latter had the appearance that he hadn’t enjoyed pushing her towards a cliff veiled as safety. 

The battle finished before it had even begun, the world snapped into place as the last of her champions fell, her own doom now sealed. Undead rangers were poised to shoot while the betrayers stayed locked against the archmage. They refused to move until Sylvanas herself had climbed from the rock and began to move through a crowd that parted without looking at her. Each and every soldier the Banshee enlisted was ready to kill should Jaina begin to even think of retaliation. 

The traitors faded into the crowd as Sylvanas stood before a completely powerless archmage. The metal bracers wouldn’t give, no matter how many times Jaina subtly prodded at it, attempting to find a weak spot. There was nothing.

Nothing but her staff. Jaina held that close like it was her lifeline, ready to use it as a club whenever Sylvanas inevitably tried to kill her. There was no real hope in escaping, but at least she could make an effort to smack that aggravating smirk from the Banshee’s lips.

“The elegant _Jaina Proudmoore_ … blinded by rage and hatred. How does it feel to succumb to madness? To throw out your friends as if they were little more than trash. You are so _brilliant,_ Proudmoore. But… I suppose we must all have our vices.” The Warchief clasped her hands behind her back and stalked towards her prey, addressing Jaina as if she was little more than a disappointment. 

Jaina grit her teeth and backed away as far as she could. She thought she was safe at the edge of the ring, an undead warrior proving her wrong with a harsh shove and gleeful cackle. The mage stumbled and fell in an undignified heap, the crowd joining the warrior in a chorus of maniacal laughter. 

Sylvanas lifted her hand and the unnerving noise silenced. As proudly as she could, Jaina got to her feet once more, now covered in the blood of her fallen soldiers. She held her staff tighter, looking about her frantically in fear that someone else would try their luck. 

The Banshee moved on. She stalked in a circular motion around the broken mage, a predator playing with cornered prey. “I must thank you for the soldiers you hand-delivered to me. I know they will prove… useful.” She was south of Jaina now, the mage having turned while Sylvanas walked to prevent being even more vulnerable to the Banshee Queen by presenting her back to her enemy. She wasn’t going to submit so easily, despite her blood running cold at Sylvanas’s words. 

A dark grin spread across Sylvanas’s face. She could see the gears turning, a horrific realization setting upon Jaina’s face without realization of her outwards expression. 

And yet, the archmage said nothing. She kept her jaw locked so nothing would slip. Jaina doubted anything could with how tight her throat was from the unbridled anger and fear that rose with each passing second.

Completing her full circle, Sylvanas raised her hand once more. The bodies of Jaina’s fallen champions were dragged away from the ring, dark mages working to return a twisted version of their life forces to now empty bodies. 

Jaina was reluctantly able to watch over Sylvanas’s shoulder. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as Sylvanas grinned again. The woman knew what she was doing, even tilting her head a little more so Jaina had a wider view of the raising process.

“Tell me, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas began in a tone nothing short of a purr. “What do you think I’ll do to you?” Armored heels brought Sylvanas before Jaina, the elf undeniably taller than the mage. Though she was only a few inches taller, her presence was intimidating. Moving away was impossible when Sylvanas grabbed her face with one hand. 

But that doesn’t mean Jaina didn’t try. She struggled against the icy grip of the Banshee’s gauntlet. Sylvanas, as expected, held firm. She even had the audacity to grin further at Jaina’s rebuttal, leaning forwards so that Sylvanas’s face encompassed most of the archmage’s vision. The horrific vision finally left Jaina’s field of view.

“I said: humor me. You know I will not let you escape-- not when you are already in my grasp. What does that leave?” A predator playing with her food. Jaina wanted to spit in her face. 

Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Nevertheless, Jaina refused to speak. Anything she said to the Warchief would be used against her in a flaunt of witty mockery to bring Jaina to heel. She wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t succumb.

Sylvanas tsk’d, armored claws digging into Jaina’s cheeks as a result of her silence. “Do you fear that I will break you? You will become a broken husk at my feet before I raise you as a lich of my own-- is that what you believe?” The amused grin returned, cheeks suddenly free of the clawed grasp, blood welling from the new incisions. Jaina didn’t have a moment of relief before that hand returned, this time fisted in her braid. Her head snapped forwards, threatening to collide with Sylvanas’s. The Warchief used her grip to prevent that.

There was an unnecessarily cold breath on the back of her neck before Sylvanas spoke. “What would the Little Lion say if he saw you in this state? His strong, _Auntie Jaina_ ,” the Banshee taunted. “A pity you did not include him in your schemes but no matter.”

And then she was gone, circling in cat-like grace around prey that quivered in fear. The mages completed their ritual, broken bodies arising once more so that their mortal wounds could be tended to. Flesh would be made anew and minds rewoven to succumb to the will of the woman who saw to their demise. The champions who had trusted their Lord Admiral-- who had defended their leader until death-- now stared at her with empty eyes. She was nothing to them.

Nothing but a mortal to be cut down.

Sylvanas stalked in front of Jaina again, completing what may have been a second or third full rotation around her captive. She was watching Jaina watch the dead arise, her people purposefully parted to give the archmage a clear view. The bitch.

Of course, Sylvanas said nothing, feigning ignorance as she brought her hand up to touch Jaina again. Her own blood was carelessly brushed off on the robe she wore, the already ruined silks soiled now with her blood. The Banshee didn’t seem to notice. There was grotesque approval in her eyes. 

“You wanted an audience, Proudmoore. _Speak.”_

A bitter reply arose before she could suppress it.

“The pain of suffering under another Lich King will be--” Jaina wasn’t able to finish her sentence as Sylvanas grasped ahold of her hair with little regard to the armored claws and shoved her to her feet. The Banshee had a momentary lapse in resolve as anger flared across her expression. She showed no outward satisfaction as Jaina cried out in shock, the grip on her staff turning bone-white.

There was a moment as the archmage was able to mentally scold herself for such bold words. 

“You know _nothing_ , of servitude, Proodmore; when I am done, you will wish I was that pathetic prince you so dearly loved.” Sylvanas grabbed ahold of the hair on the back of Jaina’s head and pulled, the mage’s neck now bared. A gasp of fear and pain left the human, Sylvanas’s cold claws digging mercilessly into her scalp. Jaina was forced to watch Sylvanas as the Queen met the gaze of someone in the crowd and then nodded, the mass parting to let someone walk through. Gone was the momentary lapse of anger that had crossed the Banshee’s face, the calculating expression returned once more. Jaina swallowed in fear, the wait causing her to struggle again and again, despite the incisions the claws dug in now staining her white hair crimson.

“Not the original binding I had wanted but we can’t have you cutting off your hands to escape.” Sylvanas pointedly looked down at the bracers on Jaina’s wrists before she took the collar presented by a dark ranger, turning it over in her hands. A dramatic look over then Sylvanas smirked down at her captive. She crouched, leaning close to Jaina’s ear. The mage snarled, lashing out at the woman since her hands hadn’t been bound, only clasped with anti-magic cuffs. It was a short lived moment of defiance, chains bursting from the ground and capturing her hands, forcing them downwards. Jaina cried out, the metal biting into her skin while the unnatural energies threatened to corrupt her, the binds tightening as she attempted to struggle more.

Once Jaina had quieted, Sylvanas returned to her spot, a smug look of approval settling on her lips. She eyed Jaina, enjoying the archmage on her knees, back bent into a shape akin to that of a taut bow. An approving hum left the Banshee’s lips.

“You fear it’s power, do you not?” As Sylvanas brought the collar closer, Jaina attempted to lean away from the magical item. It hummed with energy not unlike what bound her hands. It was unnatural, the item likely being a creation of Sylvanas’s own. What it would do to Jaina, she didn’t know. _That_ unnerved her the most. She swallowed hard and balled her fists again, her own nails breaking skin.

The pain was grounding.

“What do you think this will do to you?” Sylvanas whispered into her ear, bringing the collar closer. Jaina tried to jerk away from her, the hand in her hair preventing her from moving. She shook with rage and fear, jaw clenched shut in defiance. 

“No empowering retorts? Have I broken you already?” The Queen tsk’d. “What would your allies say if they knew you had simply _given in?”_

Jaina refused again, refusing to look at the woman at her ear and the collar dangling menacingly above her. She refused to spill-- to entertain her captor. If there was anything she learned in her years as a high priority target in the eyes of those to wish harm on the Alliance, it was that she could not _speak_ no matter how much she was humiliated and beaten. Anything she said could be used to hurt not only herself but the Alliance as a whole; the picture had been far bigger than herself from such a young age.

Her eyes focused on the cloudy sky ahead as she struggled uselessly, memorizing the dark and light curves above. It’s appearance reminded her of her home in Boralus where it quite often looked like this, a promise of rain on the wind. 

Would she ever see Boralus again? What would her mother do, the mantle of Lord Admiral falling onto her weary shoulders once more now that her daughter was missing? Would she grieve? Would she spend the resources to look for her only daughter in the midst of a war? Jaina had done this to herself. She had put this on her own mother after promising to relieve her of the weight that had burdened her for so long.

When no response was given, Sylvanas rolled her eyes and grasped her hair harder, pulling the archmage further backwards so that her neck was beared. The Banshee ignored Jaina’s attempts to struggle, instead interested in the single tear that defied Jaina in a moment of weakness. She grinned, eyes flicking momentarily to the blood that had begun to drip down the wounds hidden by the chains. 

“I’ll be sure to tell Anduin about how you cried in the face of defeat, _Lady_ Proudmoore. No words or actions… just tears. Pathetic.” Sylvanas flicked open the collar, chuckling darkly. When Jaina-- in a final attempt to do something-- slammed her head backwards into Sylvanas’s nose, the Banshee decided her grip on the archmage’s head wasn’t enough. The crowd began to shift to defend their Queen but, after a curse under her breath in Gutterspeak, held up her hand to stop them. She pulled Jaina’s head to her shoulder, her arm wrapping around the mage’s head to prevent her from moving. Her gloved hand settled on Jaina’s forehead, pressing Jaina against her. She could kill the archmage here. She could snap that pretty little neck of the human’s and watch as life left her eyes. Proudmoore wouldn’t be defiant then. She would be raised as an elite Lich, one who would be unable to disobey her queen’s orders.

But Sylvanas needed Jaina alive for her plan to work. She pushed back the dark thoughts of murder and clasped the collar around the archmage’s neck, securing it firmly before Jaina could struggle out. 

A blinding pain worse than any migraine she had ever felt burst into her head as the clasp was finally fixed upon her neck. Jaina let out an agonized scream and fell forwards, Sylvanas’s grip loosening to let her and chains receding. The Banshee watched with piqued interest, her head slightly tilted as she took in the mage’s reaction. Slowly, a hole was created in Jaina’s mind. Slowly, Sylvanas’s presence began to fill in, the agony only increasing.

  
Jaina openly sobbed as she clutched her head, the pain only increasing as the collar worked. Her powers ebbed, the collar building an impenetrable wall that Jaina couldn’t break through. She tried to will herself to make it stop-- to stand up against the encroaching consciousness on her own. But the more she fought, the more it hurt. The agony only spiked everytime she pushed back until Jaina was sure that she was going to lose consciousness. There was no telling what Sylvanas may do while she was out. 

Ultimately, Jaina gave up the fight. She sat there and clutched at her head helplessly, unable to fight. Not until her mind was crammed with something else did the pain lessen but it didn’t fade. Not completely. No, the headache remained to some extent.

Sylvanas watched this spectacle for the entirety of it. She paced in slow circles around the human, gaze indifferent boarding bored. The technology was new so there was no telling how the wearer would react to it. Afterall, no one had put it on. 

A collar fit for a specific prisoner, one might say.

Once Jaina’s sobs had slowed to whimpers, Sylvanas nudged the woman’s thigh with her boot. _“Enough, Proudmoore. You are above pain.”_ Jaina’s whimpers quieted but she did not move. _“Get up; we have kingdoms to conquer.”_ Sylvanas's words bounced around in Jaina's head, the daunting reality that her thoughts were now not her own setting in. If Sylvanas could speak within her mind, there was no clear extent of what power she could exert over Jaina's mind. The idea that her actions could not be her own terrified the mage.

Jaina panted raggedly, hands lowering to the ground to steady her shaking limbs. They fisted in the bloody dirt for a long moment, her head nothing but a cloudy mess. 

“Get… out of my head, you bitch.” She finally growled out. Jaina forced herself to look up at Sylvanas, murder clear in her eyes. The mage’s knuckles turned white as she tried to gather the courage to fight back-- to lash out at Sylvanas. The collar was causing a mental block within her. It was hard to get herself to do anything with malice against Sylvanas. “You…” She forced herself to continue. The collar felt like it was impossibly tight. “You’re no better than Arthas if you--” 

Jaina collapsed to the ground in agony once more, a smell of burning flesh filling the air. The skin beneath Jaina’s collar sizzled threateningly, blood slowly beginning to slide from the new wounds. 

Sylvanas chuckled outwardly, the sound bouncing around in her head as if she hadn’t. “As you can see, rebuttals will not be tolerated. Once your new necklace settles, you will obey my commands without realizing.” She crouched down and forced Jaina’s tear-streaked face up towards her own, the pain reducing around Jaina’s neck but never leaving. She was met with a murderous glare. All further smart remarks were kept in her mind where they were only rewarded with small sparks of pain. Sylvanas let her have her peace for now, her presence fading from the mage’s head. They would have time later to explore this new connection.

Satisfied with her prisoner, Sylvanas turned her back to Jaina. She clasped her hands behind her as she regarded her passive army, eyes dancing across her rangers. 

“Behold, the great Jaina Proudmoore,” she announced, stepping aside so the group could fully see the broken woman. A large cheer arose in the group. Sylvanas let it last for a few moments before she held up her hand and silence fell upon them once more. “In life, she will serve as the Forsaken’s most powerful weapon. In death, she will grace us with her presence as a Lich.” A roar ran through the group again but it died down quickly on it’s own.

“Who will have the honor of choosing Proudmoore’s moniker?” Sylvanas challenged, red gaze sweeping across the crowd.

“Alliance’s Price!” A voice yelled from the back.

“Banshee’s Arrow.”

“King’s Bane.”

Jaina spit a mixture of dirt and blood onto the ground. “Banshee’s Bane,” she snarled in correction, her wit finally rearing its head. Sylvanas slowly turned and looked down at the woman, her eyebrow raising. As surprising as it was to finally hear Jaina talk, Sylvanas let the mage have her moment. 

“How cute that you continue to fight your bindings, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas purred. She turned back to the crowd as the suggestions continued to pour in.

“Queen’s Tempest.”

Sylvanas’s head tilted at that. She raised her hand and the suggestions died away. _“Queen’s Tempest,”_ Sylvanas purred, testing how it rolled over her tongue. After a pause, she smirked. “I’m taking quite a liking to that one.” Her eyes found Jaina’s shaking form again. “On your feet, _Queen’s Tempest._ You have your first mission to complete.” A flash of cruelty passed across her face as Jaina’s helpless eyes fell upon her own. How enticing it was to have the world’s most powerful mage crumpled beneath her. A power-hungry lust coursed through her, Sylvanas tilting her chin up a hair as she waited for Jaina to obey.

At the first twinge of pain from the collar, Jaina moved. Her legs shook and threatened to give out, the steady waves of pain making that task difficult. Sylvanas reached over and placed two fingers along the side of the collar. A shuddering sigh of relief left Jaina, the pain stopping at the touch. She nearly leaned into Sylvanas’ touch in fear that it would go away and the pain would return. Alas, Jaina had the restraint to still herself once on her feet.

She didn’t have to lean over for Sylvanas to get in her space. “Breathe, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas whispered. “We will be victorious in our endeavours.” Jaina slowly looked up at Sylvanas, their eyes meeting for a tense moment. Once her point was made, Sylvanas moved her hold on the collar to a mechanism on the back, messing with a few settings. Once satisfied, Sylvanas stepped back from her space and removed her hand. Much to Jaina’s surprise, the pain did not return. Instead, it rested as a sticky weight around her neck, rubbing painfully against the open wound. She grimaced softly but refused to make a sound about it. Too many times Jaina had been weak before Sylvanas and her Forsaken… and that had just been today. The days to come sparked fear inside the mage that she refused to acknowledge. With the power of the collar, what would Sylvanas make her do? What could Jaina refuse when her own mind was the Banshee’s domain?

“Follow me. We’re setting sail to test your… responsiveness.” Sylvanas gave her a look and then walked away, the mass of people parting for her. Jaina was expected to follow and the collar urged her to walk when she hesitated for too long. Her steps were unsteady but she managed to keep up the unrelenting pace Sylvanas set. The Banshee didn’t seem to have a heart for her wounded prisoner.

“The collar will cause no further harm unless you disobey and any ill intentions towards yourself will render you unconscious.” She looked pointedly at Jaina. “I suggest you refrain from attempting.” 

Her gaze then turned towards the ship before them, boarding without hesitation. Jaina followed more slowly, unnerved by the presence of the Forsaken vessel. Dark Rangers filed in behind her and lifted the plank, the rest of the army left to board another ship or make camp. Jaina didn’t know nor did she care enough to ask.

As her feet took her towards the far edge of the boat, Jaina’s gaze fell towards the gentle ocean below. She needn’t test to feel the lack of the ocean’s call. It didn’t pull at her, nor did it want to play. The water was just that… water. It was as if she was no longer a mage born and trained alongside the seas. They had no care for her presence.

Her eyes fell to the bracers as a silent acceptance fell over her. There was little she could do now but give into the Banshee’s will and hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello All! I'm so sorry this took so long... I have a really bad habit of not working on art/writing unless I'm incredibly inspired/manic. I've been trying to get through that!
> 
> Meanwhile, the angst continues via unhappy boat rides.

“Warchief.”

A woman ran over to Sylvanas, a young blood elf priest by the looks of it. Sylvanas dismissed the Dark Ranger she had been speaking with, the wind rushing along the boat and making the conversation difficult for Jaina to understand. The dismissed Dark Ranger took her place at Jaina’s side, a few steps further towards the helm from Sylvanas. The priest bowed low, an act that failed to change Sylvanas’s expression.

“Priestess,” Sylvanas acknowledged in greeting. “You will tend to Proudmoore’s wounds as we sail to our destination. Be aware: she is fond of masochistic tendencies.” The Warchief tilted her head just so that their eyes met, Jaina’s brows furrowing at the connection. The priestess spared Jaina a glance as well, nodding in recognition. 

“Your will be done.” The priestess bowed once more and was dismissed. It took only a few moments before said priestess found her way to Jaina’s side, the mage having turned away from the interaction so that she may lean on the railing of the boat. It was comforting to be on the seas once more… even if their call was warbled. The waters did not call to her as they should-- their songs were poisoned. For once, Jaina understood how it was to be without the siren song calling her deeper, urging her to join the tides down under. She felt as if she was no longer the Daughter of the Sea but instead a commoner born without an inclination to magic born on the mainland. 

It had crossed her mind not only once since boarding the boat to simply end it all by diving off the side. But Sylvanas’s warning still rang in her ears, the collar growing uncomfortably tight the more Jaina entertained the idea.  _ Any ill intentions towards yourself will render you unconscious, _ Sylvanas had said. Should that be true, Jaina feared she would be crumpled upon the floor before she tried. There was no telling what could happen to her should she attempt and be left to the will of Sylvanas. Would she wake up, bound and humiliated? Would Sylvanas see her punished for her act of defiance, beating her bloody until she was broken at the Warchief’s feet? Or would she be thrown to the hungry eyes of the Forsaken, a play-toy for whatever the undead saw fit?

Jaina swallowed hard and closed her eyes, bowing her head as she forced herself to breathe. The collar released her neck from the uncomfortable contraction it had begun while her thoughts strayed into traitorous territory. 

Red eyes momentarily found the mage but they were quickly brought to attention elsewhere.

Now forcing herself to think clearly, Jaina realized that she was not alone. The Dark Ranger was still there, yes, but the woman took up little space and seemed to give off no presence at all. She simply… existed. Perhaps this was what made the small elite group so deadly. Jaina knew no human could exist and not exist at the same time: they breathed, heart beating and blood rushing through their veins. Even if a human did nothing their body was obnoxiously busy. A Dark Ranger was the exact opposite.

The priest at her side stood silent for sometime, a quick glance in her direction revealing that she was, in fact, awestruck by Jaina’s presence. There was no fear within the golden eyes that took in the mage’s features and wounds-- no repulsion. Instead, the awe laid bare a respect akin to that of a child living in Stormwind. 

Strange to see such an emotion on a Sin’dorei.

Jaina stared at her companion until the blood elf tsk’d, eyes having found the blisters below the collar. The healer began to move to heal and then thought better of it. There would be no way that Sylvanas would allow the collar removed-- not so soon after it was put on. Jaina wasn’t broken yet and her chances of teleporting away were high. The wounds she would inflict on herself in the coming days, months, possibly years, would have to be healed around the new decoration. She only hoped that it would wash out to prevent possible infection.

“The Dark Lady has assigned me as your personal healer,” the blood elf began. “I can… heal around the collar, should it please you. I-it will only take a moment, Lady-- Lord Admiral.”

A smart remark came to Jaina’s lips but she swallowed instead. “Do not waste your energy, priest.” Jaina responded, eyes finding the churning waters below. “I do not plan to make this easy on Sylvanas.” Nor herself, apparently. She would not break so quickly and would die trying to hold her tongue. Tides help her in this imprisonment. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Jaina saw the priestess smirk at her, a small scoff (chuckle?) following suit. She reached up and pressed gentle fingers to the base of Jaina’s neck, a warmth beginning to spread throughout Jaina’s body. A small sigh left her nose as the pain and the chaffing was damped, her blistered skin stitching itself back together. 

“I didn’t expect you to,” the priestess responded as she worked. “And, to be quite honest, I’d chastise you if you gave in so easily. Considering your circumstances, that is.” 

The priestess spared a glance to Sylvanas, the elf’s ear tilted towards them. If the Warchief was offended by what her priestess had said, she made no outwards indication. Jaina, however, did not follow suit. Instead, she returned the smirk her healer gave her, looking up from where her gaze had fixated onto the rolling waves. Her staff laid resting against the side of the ship just in arm’s reach, the Banshee having failed to take it from her. It was a show of confidence that the collar would undeniably work.  
“You are a bold woman,” Jaina observed aloud. “I only hope you can aid me in keeping my sanity during the coming days.” The smile fell bitter and she averted her gaze from the healer’s eyes. Once more, she found the bitter solace of the waves below, her hand reaching out to call upon deaf waves. They rolled against the boat as it sailed, cut through and splashing in anguish. There was nothing in them that could serve Jaina any more… nothing that would give her the comfort she so desperately wanted.

If Sylvanas had looked over to watch the mage, no one saw it… at least no one which would speak of such actions.

As kind and respectful as any priest should be, the woman waited patiently until Jaina spoke once more. It was hard to ignore the sadness that tinged her tone, the pain that the loss of her powers was clearly inflicting upon the mage. Though the priest was a healer, there was no support she could further offer. She silently hoped that a non-judgmental ear would be enough for now.

“I will become broken in the coming week,” Jaina stated clearly, the words in which she spoke free of the pain that clouded her features. “It is only a matter of time before the Alliance realizes I have gone missing but by that point, I will already suffer from the infliction of the Banshee’s torment. As you have agreed, this will be as bloody as it is mentally damaging.” A small smile was managed towards the priest. “Though you may be Horde, I find myself already wishing you could not be a part of this; you seem like a decent woman.”

The priestess almost seemed to grow stern in that moment. “Mirriam, Lord Admiral,” she offered quickly before continuing. “I am your assigned healer throughout your… stay at Lady Windrunner’s side and I will do whatever it takes to keep you on your feet. If all the rumors about you are true, you  _ can _ get through this. Though it may scare you now to think of the future, you have proven there is little you can overcome.” Mirriam fidgeted for a moment, casting a glance over at the Forsaken leader before leaning a bit closer to Jaina. “You must understand that Sylvanas has you for a reason,” she urged, “even if it seems bleak now. Look at it this way: you know the Alliance won’t hurt you, that’s guaranteed. And now that Sylvanas has you, the Horde won’t either. She could have killed you back there-- raised you as a Lich to convince you easily of her goals. But she hasn’t… that means she wants you alive.”

Jaina watched the priestess thoughtfully, the saddened look having all but fallen from her face as Mirriam spoke. Though there were holes in her logic, the priestess was mostly right. A captive of the Warcheif had her safe from unsolicited attacks by any Horde member or leader. If someone were to hurt Jaina without the Banshee’s will behind the action, they would be punished severely. It was... comforting enough, to say the least. 

The threat of Sylvanas and her unseen plan still loomed in Jaina’s mind, however.

“What you say may be true, but it matters little when Sylvanas desires for me to hurt my own men. But I thank you for your advice.” Jaina forced herself a small smile as a thought came to mind. “Perhaps, when this is all over, I may extend to you an invitation to a place at my side.” A jest, in all fairness, but a momentary lapse in the grim conversation felt needed.

It was enough to make Mirriam giggle with flustered amusement. “Though I hate to turn down a good opportunity, I’m loyal to the Horde and Sylvanas… despite who she may be now.” The smile turned a little saddened. Her own gaze turned to the ocean waves below, inspecting them for a remnant of whatever Jaina saw beneath. “She may seem cruel to you and the members of the Alliance, but I have never seen another ruler as fiercely protective over her people as Lady Windrunner. She _cares_ about us, about our future in the world-- the Forsaken, for one, but not just them: everyone who believes in her, who follows her diligently.  
“Besides all that, you must be aware that, even though it seems bleak now, the Banshee Queen has you for a _reason._ Theoretically, you are in the _safest_ place on Azeroth.” Mirriam continued, almost desperate to make Jaina understand all of the sudden as she pulled Jaina’s earlier thoughts into the air. The mage couldn’t help but recoil. “The Horde cannot hurt you now and the Alliance wouldn’t dare lift a finger against one of their very own. These first few months may seem bad, but she--”

“Mirriam,” a voice interjected. The two whipped around to face Sylvanas as she called them from the other side of the boat, her eyes dark. The priestess swallowed, fearing that Sylvanas had heard her and believed her to have overstepped. 

“I- I’m sorry, Warchief. I--” Mirriam stumbled to apologize, the Banshee quickly opening her mouth to cut her off once more.

“Finish with your healing. You are to retire after.” Mirriam bowed in understanding and turned back to Jaina. She quickly ushered Jaina’s hands into her own, procuring a key she had likely been given prior while Jaina’s mind was absent. However, the woman’s hands did not shake with fear, nor did she look startled. Instead, there was renewed vigor in her work. Despite the chastise, albeit one soft, the priestess did not fear her leader.

The archmage leaned in momentarily to provide a conclusion to their conversation.  “It is not that I fear what the others will do,” she clarified in hardly more than a whisper. “I fear what it is she will have me do to  _ them.” _

The shackles binding Jaina’s wrists fell to the wooden flooring below and the Light’s blessing quickly filed into her veins. The wounds the shackles had caused were gone in mere moments, with Mirriam and the Light following suit.

The priestess gave her an encouraging smile. “It will get better, I promise.” She whispered. There was a small moment where Jaina found peace looking at the smaller woman. She almost wanted to believe that Mirriam was, indeed, right.

But the priestess was gone with a turn on her heel, busying herself with whatever required attention below deck. Her blonde head disappeared around the corner, the last glimpse of joy Jaina would see for the rest of the night. Though the mage did not believe this would be their last moment together. No, Sylvanas Windrunner had assigned the priestess to be  _ her _ healer. Through the torment Jaina would endure in the months to come, she had a feeling Mirriam would become a close figure in her life. She dared not to hope at friendship, but the thought lingered. Having a friend in this hell hole, after all, would likely end poorly for the both of them. Sylvanas wanted her miserable-- broken. A friend would mend that.

Or, perhaps, a friend could be used to sway the archmage to Sylvanas’s side. It would be a tactic of manipulation, something the Queen has done numerous times to get her way. Jaina wouldn’t put it past the Queen to attempt it in her captivity. 

At arm's length, then. Mirriam would come no closer for the sake of both of them.

With the ray of sunshine that was the priestess now gone, Jaina found a shadow taking up the space at her side; it was none other than the woman of her thoughts herself: Sylvanas Windrunner. The archmage had spaced off long enough that the banshee had approached soundlessly, joining her at the edge of the deck. She, however, did not lean on it as Jaina did. Instead, she looked strictly at her prisoner, her face an impossible mask to penetrate. 

“The Captain’s Quarters are at your disposal and you have the liberty to freely move around the upper deck.” Sylvanas spoke clearly. Jaina met her unwavering gaze evenly, hoping to find a glimmer of something in her expression. Perhaps a look into what awaited her-- a trap, surely-- belied by amusement. But the banshee was as guarded as a stone wall. 

Jaina forced down a sigh as she pushed herself from the deck siding, a hand coming up to push away the hair that was being whipped to-and-fro by the wind. Alas, her gesture did nothing, and her failure to respond had the banshee leaving without further comment, returning to preparations that would surely break Jaina. It seemed her prisoner, no matter how powerful or proud, meant little to the Queen in the moment. Jaina found herself relieved to be without her captor, even if it was for a miniscule amount of time on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Though the archmage wished for a small amount of familiarity to ease the process of thinking, Jaina found the constant feeling of being watched and the warbled song of the sea too distracting. The trauma of the day weighed heavy on her shoulders and all she could do was let it torment her.

Jaina slumped to the floor, her head hung and back pressed against the vibrating wood of the deck siding. 

* * *

They day turned into night and the wooden floor quickly grew uncomfortable. And yet, the archmage stayed in her position. She stared off into space, her eyes unfocused on the sky above. She didn't sleep, no. Instead, she thought. And she listened to the sea, the occasional gutterspeak, and the cries of birds above. While her mind wandered, it was all meaningless rambles, memories, and senseless conversations mashed into one. It was hard to make sense of it all. So, she didn’t. No, she let her thoughts take her wherever they wanted to. She was simply a passenger on this freight train. 

The consciousness existing in the outskirts of her thoughts wasn’t helping. Occasionally, it would make itself just noticeable as the Banshee Queen listened in to her nonsense. She was frequently left alone almost instantaneously when the banshee found Jaina still reduced to maddened rambling. There was once where the Queen stuck around for almost a minute, as if to make sense of it all. But Jaina was hardly aware of this-- hardly aware of anything. And the consciousness receded once more, leaving Jaina’s mind to insanity. 

As the sun began to set, Jaina gained a shard of clarity, just enough to begin experimenting with said consciousness. She poked at it, prodded the walls that refused to let her in. She wondered about the mechanism, about how the banshee could have created an instrument of torture like this. She continued to poke all while mentally conversing with herself, only to get a shock from the collar that signaled Sylvanas’s irritation. The woman didn't want Jaina to be a pest, apparently. Too bad she unwittingly gave the archmage the most annoying way to  _ be _ annoying. 

The shock, however, after its second treatment (because Jaina wasn’t going to let up that easily), did the trick in settling her curiosity. She let the second consciousness be free from her pestering and, instead, turned her thoughts back to the mindless rambling from before. So long as she did not sleep, Jaina thought.

Night fell and the moon was high above, a slightly cloudy sky occasionally shielding her from its light. A signaling shout of gutterspeak broke her from her self-induced trance causing the archmage to look up, much to the protest of her neck. Too long in one position… the pain was hardly felt.

Sylvanas appeared from the Captain’s quarters mere moments after the shout, her eyes on the horizon. They quickly fell to the man who had yelled, issuing commands at the speed of light.

Those very same eyes found her but moments later, sending a predatory chill down her spine. She had the urge to leap over the edge of the ship-- to hide from the gaze that wanted to watch her suffer. But the collar had her back onto her knees not seconds after she had unwittingly stumbled to her feet. She coughed violently, clutching the burning skin. 

Unamused and undeterred, Sylvanas made her way to the archmage and pulled her back onto shaking feet. The mercy of the floor was not given as she was forced to look at the incoming island still miles away. It was just on the horizon, but the icy clutch on her face spoke of urgency. 

Dread filled Jaina. Sylvanas left her to fend for herself once on her feet and gave her the space she so desperately needed as her fate befell her spinning thoughts once more. The Banshee Queen didn’t give her a moment to spiral back down before she spoke.

“Come, Jaina: your first test awaits.” She walked towards the helm of the ship, settling one hand on the hip-high railing. The command had the archmage trailing after the Queen, the collar spurring her into action without realization. Her skin still ached from the last few shocks.

Once standing upon the helm, Sylvanas slotted herself behind the mage and grasped Jaina’s left wrist. Her hand was lifted into the air before them, towards the incoming island. 

“You won’t have to see them,” she murmured. “You will merely raise your hand and cast a storm-- one that'll suffocate the enemy. Choke them out with the overwhelming force of it all.” Jaina tensed and swallowed hard, leaning forwards subtly as Sylvanas placed herself uncomfortably close. The banshee's breath was almost without air, but it was unnervingly close. Just as her gauntlet, the banshee herself was as cold as death; she held no heat within her body at all. While Jaina knew how the undead worked, due to studying it for so many years, being so close was a different matter altogether.

“Do this,” Sylvanas continued, “and you will be rewarded.” 

Jaina’s breath shook as she forced herself to breathe. For a moment, she didn’t want to look at the island looming before them at such a far distance. Her eyes darted from side to side, but the muddled song of the ocean was of no solace. No, the island before beckoned her attention. Jaina found herself unable to tear her eyes away once gazing at it.

This would be the start of it all, wouldn’t it? This is where Sylvanas would begin to break her. The little show on the prior island was nothing compared to this-- compared to what was to come. No, this is where Sylvanas would  _ use _ her. Jaina would be forced to turn against her own people; to harm them; to go against her morals. She would become a weapon at the banshee’s disposal. With a word, Jaina would be forced to act. Everything would eventually go numb, she knows, but that was what she feared most. The sight of her people broken and dead at the hands of the Forsaken all because of  _ her. _ And at some point, she would feel nothing upon the killing blow. 

Jaina swallowed hard again. And she spoke.

“What will be my reward?” She asked, unable to produce more than a whisper. It was not the banshee’s intention to humiliate her, it seems, as she was not forced to repeat herself. Instead, this response seemed to momentarily surprise Sylvanas. While Jaina could not see it on her face, she could feel it in the second consciousness.

As her body began to shake, betraying her dread from the question asked prior, Sylvanas’s hand shifted to steady the appendage. 

“Rest… relaxation.” The Banshee Queen responded lowly in her ear. “We are in this for the long game, Proudmoore. Should you do as I say now, I will save you from humiliation and stress upon our return. I may even consider a treat.” 

Jaina set her jaw. She took a shuddering breath and slightly turned her head to look at the woman. Sylvanas, in turn, leaned back just enough that their noses would only have enough space as she tilted her head enough to return the sidelined glance. As always, her expression was as stone, but something about it seemed… lighter. Perhaps it was the second consciousness telling Jaina that the words spoken were not honied lies meant to deceive her into action, but instead held a merit of truth. The mage took a moment to consider this. 

Her eyes fell back to the island before them, quickly approaching. Who would be on this island? Alliance soldiers, that was certain. But what were they guarding? What was it that Sylvanas wanted here? Power? Another base of operations? Azerite? The last option seemed the most likely, as it was quickly becoming ammunition that could change the tide of war. 

The lifeblood of Azeroth… how cruel it seemed to be farming the dying world for power-- for money. And with each explosion used by the mineral, Azeroth only continues to die. A cruel fate, and one that many refused to care for. That the titan that keeps this world alive would be ignored in her time of need.

Sylvanas gripped her wrist harder, bringing Jaina back from her thoughts. In the corner of her eye, she could see the woman’s expression become harder. That flicker of gentle emotion receded as Jaina stalled. 

“Do it,” she commanded again, her voice rougher-- more agitated. “Release a storm big enough to incapacitate them. Choke them long enough that my men can get in and out without being noticed.” Jaina momentarily tried to twist out of the banshee’s increasingly harmful hold, the collar shocking in response. Meanwhile, Sylvanas was like a wall of stone, refusing to move even as the mage writhed against her. Once she had settled, the banshee’s lips were once more next to her ear.

“If you do this now, I will not harm them. If you continue to fight me, they will all be slaughtered where they stand.” She snarled in a whisper. This got Jaina’s attention and her eyes flew wide. The ship was closer to the island now, but not too close to have been spotted already. She swallowed hard.

And mentally apologized for the her own people that she would be harming. Not all of them would survive this, no. But the majority… those who could hold their breaths long enough, she supposed. 

As Jaina’s eyes turned blue and arcane energy rushed to her fingertips, Sylvanas released her and stepped aside. Both of Jaina’s hands ascended to the sky above, the clouds she had previously marveled at for shielding her from the moon’s light now coalescing above the island. Steam momentarily rose from the ocean and joined the clouds above, which descended quickly into a dense fog. The mage continued to hold the density of it together for roughly a minute and a half before releasing it, letting the vapor disperse. 

The ship lurched in speed, nearly knocking the archmage over. She steadied herself on the railing and turned back to look at the offending captain. Instead, she saw a mix of approval and fascination in Sylvanas’s face, though this was incredibly muted. Only the small raise of an eyebrow and the gentle curve of a corner of her lips gave it away.

The crew was much more open with their astonishment… at least the living members. The Dark Rangers stood as stoic as ever.

As Sylvanas turned and began barking orders once more, the crew snapped from their reverie and into action, moving quickly to begin enacting orders. The deck was quickly filled with crewmates that prepared to board the island, some loaded with bags and crates, others with only daggers on their hips. But none of them were unsheathed. A small glimmer of hope that Sylvanas would indeed honor her words and the Alliance people would be spared sparked through the mage.

Her eyes turned back to the island as it loomed in front of them, now within only a few hundred meters. Had she done the right thing? Once she was saved, would she be reprimanded for her actions? The actions she was forced into by a collar and hand not of her own?

The archmage took a deep breath as the ship slowed and the crew docked with an expert skill. They had not even completely docked before the crew was leaping onto the wood below and disappearing into the fog. All she could was watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has commented:) You have really inspired me to continue with the chapters, I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you!


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